American Horror Story: Headcanons
by imgoddamnpluckyremember
Summary: Sometimes I get the idea to write a little piece of character history in the form of a short experience or moment in time. The past is my favorite part of character development because everything that happened before builds them into the character we see before us today. These anecdotes are arranged by character and will always be ongoing.
1. Sister Mary Eunice: 1

_"Please, please you can't…" she begged._

_"Of course I can, silly. I just did," her own voice echoed back to her. But not her voice. A more confident one._

_"Please, you have to let me go."_

_"Why should I do that? Go ahead, make a convincing argument." It waited. "Go ahead, I'm listening." It waited still. Listening to her snivel and cry like a child. 'Give me a reason,' it thought, 'if you have one, that is. And perhaps I'll consider it.'_

_She couldn't come up with one. Instead she turned to prayer. It laughed a little too lightheartedly. "Stop now. Enough of that, you'll wear us both out." It reminded her of Sister Jude, but it was Godless._

_She always thought the devil was a little red man with horns, but it wasn't. It wasn't anything. _

_"Stop. Don't be frightened. I'm not going to hurt you, contrary to what you might think."_

_She quieted, that little voice inside, as if hesitating and waiting for what might come._

_"You know what I think?" it asked, with a voice like the purr of the lovely Persian her grandmother gave her as a girl. "I think…you have always been afraid, child. Afraid of what people will say, what they will do. Always the butt of someone's cruel joke. Am I wrong?"_

_"No," she whispered._

_"You wanted to be favored, didn't you? At least by someone, but your mother thought you were shy and a failure no matter how hard she pushed and shoved, you never wanted to be in that kind of a position. And your sister, the feminist, she was a lost cause. Your father thought you were dear, but simpering and a little immature. Am I wrong?" it asked again._

_"No," she said with less doubt._

_"You've spent your whole life trying to do good, to be good, and at the first temptation to rebel—I've seen you, don't be ashamed—you've resisted. What has good ever earned you? What has goodness ever done? You're shut up here with the filth of the earth. They throw their feces at you, spit on you. Because they know you're a scared little girl with no authority. Am I wrong yet?"_

_"No. No you're not."_

_"You've been praying for some kind of salvation all these years, Mary Eunice. All this time, you've been waiting. I'm here to set you free."_

_She shivered. "How?"_

_"Oh, don't worry about that. You just let me take care of it. But together, you and I. Well, let's just say big things are beginning to happen around here."_

_Its voice was so smooth, so persuasive. She'd heard the allure and charm of the Devil talked about in Mass every Sunday since she was small and stupid, but the Bible hadn't even come close. This was a voice that squashed fear and hopelessness and doubt, just as the voice of God had done for Moses and Noah and every last disciple. _

_"Let's be bad together, darling."_


	2. Moira O'Hara: 1

_The gunshot was still ringing in her ears, the mere sound of it jarred her awake. She sat up slowly, testing her limbs and digits one at a time for dexterity. The bedroom was dark, the bed a mess, she noted with distaste, but she pulled herself up, not altogether sure of what had happened. Moira ambled down the hallway bracing herself on the wall. The window at the far end was open, the California night seemed unusually chilly. _

_"Mrs. Langdon?" she called softly, looking down the hall as she closed and latched the window shut. She grabbed both of the linen drapes and made to shut them, but she noticed something moving down in the back yard. Squinting in the pale moonlight, she saw a shovelful of dirt fly._

_Mrs. Langdon was standing in the yard digging that hole as if her life depended on it. Moira watched for a moment—she and the woman had never seen eye to eye, really but this seemed unusual even for Constance. She couldn't take her eyes away. And she must have decided it was deep enough, because Mrs. Langdon hoisted herself up out of that hole and grabbed something in the yard, dragging it over._

_Not something, no. Someone. Someone with a collar of…_

_Lace._

_Her stomach turned to ice and fire all at the same time. It all came rushing back with full force and hit her so hard that she fell to her knees as if she'd been struck. _

_She was dead. She was dead, she was dead, she was dead._

_And Mrs. Langdon had shot her. Shot her in the eye. That explained the throbbing pain. She dry-heaved for a moment, trying to catch her bearings in vain, but she couldn't. She hauled herself down the stairs, stumbling down each one, her ankles twisting in her shoes. She scrambled through the foyer for the front door and jerked it open, racing off the front porch._

_Moira no sooner made it through the front gates than she noticed she was standing in the kitchen again. "No, no! Please, please I have to get out," she begged any god or devil that would listen. _

_"No one gets out," someone said. _

_She turned on her heel to see a young woman nearly her own age, bleeding from multiple stab wounds. Moira recoiled. "Who are you?"_

_"Dead. That's all that matters now, anyway. Do you have a name?"_

_"Moira," she whispered._

_The girl looked out the window watching as Constance shoveled the final loads of dirt back over the unmarked grave. "Not anymore. You're nobody now."_


	3. Lana Winters: 1

_"We're going skinny dipping. Wanna come?" _

_She'd been going to summer camp almost every summer cousin Beth had been going, mainly because she got jealous the first year that Beth went without her. The first year she went, Beth had to introduce her as "This is my cousin, she's the Chicken I told you about last year." Which admittedly didn't help her reputation. Beth was also three years older and that didn't help so much either._

_But here she was, fifteen now, Beth was 18 and a counselor. They'd finally stopped calling her 'Spring Chicken' and 'chicklet,' but she couldn't tell if that was because the joke had gotten old, or the fact that she, the late bloomer, had finally gotten boobs._

_At any rate, she was happy to be included._

_In the dark she tiptoed out of the cabin, watching for the squeaky floorboard as she followed her cousin toward the lake at a noiseless sprint. She'd always been fast. "The boys from the camp across the lake are coming too. Peter's little brother is coming," Beth nudged her with a reckless grin. Lana smiled only a little, and wrapped her arms around herself._

_"I dunno, Beth…"_

_"Chicken."_

_Lana punched her in the arm. "Don't you __**dare**__ bring that up!"_

_"Hey Lana, Beth." _

_Lana turned on her heel, grinning when she recognized the girl behind her. Sara Palmer._

_Lana had decided a long time ago that Sara was exactly the kind of person she wanted to be when she got older. Pretty, funny, popular. Legs for days and a killer smile. "You're coming too?" she asked, glad to be with a friend and not just Beth._

_"Of course. Wouldn't miss it. It's the fourth of July, silly. There's a family that camps a couple miles from here and you can see their fireworks from the dock." Sara shirked her shirt and Lana was admittedly a little stunned by her own thoughts. 'She looks better without it.' She glanced around hoping she hadn't said that out loud. Lana watched Beth and Sara wade into the water and found herself appraising Sara's backside too…_

_"Are you coming, or are you just going to stand there all night?" Beth called out._

_With a relenting sigh, Lana bit her lip and pulled the nightgown up over her head before gliding into the water herself._

_The boys hadn't come empty handed. They came in a canoe, already naked (Lana found herself looking away), and toting beer. When they passed one to her, she chose not to object—cool older people and all. So she sipped at the bitter, cheap drink when it seemed right, and suddenly she was on a third and a fourth, feeling weightless._

_She managed to evade the boys, however, and that made everything feel much more alright. A few had tried to talk to her, but she ignored them or tried to cut the conversation short. When she looked up again, Sara was swimming toward her._

_"Having fun?" she asked._

_"Yeah, when do the fireworks start?"_

_"Soon, I hope. Probably just waiting until the parents are hammered or something." Sara rolled her eyes. "Are you sure you're having fun though? You're kinda…alone."_

_"Boys are weird." Lana recoiled. She almost reached up to slap a hand over her mouth. Sara must've seen the look on her face because she laughed._

_"I agree. Boys are really weird. Here, come with me. I'll show you the best spot to watch them." Sara started to swim away._

_"Shouldn't we tell the others where we're going?" _

_"No don't worry about it. This is a secret. It's the best spot on the lake, come on."_

_Sara dipped under the water and Lana followed suit, peeking up every now and again to make sure she was going the right way. Finally they stopped and Sara hoisted herself up onto a dock that led on shore. "Come on, this way." _

_Lana clumsily climbed out and followed, covering her breasts so no one would see and stepped carefully to avoid any squeaky planks. On the beach Sara was already fishing something out from behind a rock—a rolled blanket. She shook it out and neatly spread it on the sandy shore before waving Lana over._

_"I prepared earlier today. I thought it was just going to be me, so the blanket's a little small."_

_"That's okay." Lana was perhaps a little too eager on the uptake, but chose to sit rather than lay down. _

_Something whistled from above. An flare of red and white fizzled and hissed with an ear splitting 'BOOM!' afterwards._

_"I told you this was the best spot," Sara laughed._

_"It is!" Lana couldn't help but laugh too and watch the next few set off. She grinned looking back at Sara who was now sitting closer. Lana inched her hand forward until it was touching Sara's, who's fingers laced with hers. Somehow it felt right, her fingers and Sara's together like perfect pieces of a puzzle._

_A purple one blasted through the sky and that was when Sara touched her cheek. Her smile faded a little, but Sara pulled her in close. Lana was suddenly acutely aware of her body and Sara's wet skin, sand in between her toes. She held her breath for a single second before Sara's lips were on hers._

_The clear midnight sky was an explosion of green._


	4. Myrtle Snow: 1

_"The fact remains, dear, that you did set a girl on fire."_

_"Just her ponytail, the hair will grow back," Myrtle said from the passenger seat of her mother's car. "And besides, I only singed an inch."_

_"Where did you even get the lighter, Myrtle?"_

_That was a bit harder to answer so she said nothing. That was her father's advice. The daughter of a social, high society lawyer and a housewife, she knew how and when to be quiet and this was one of those times she elected to plead the fifth. _

_"I suppose it's not important. We should just be thankful they aren't pressing charges. I couldn't bear the shame of it, darling. You know how delicate I am in these situations," her mother fixed an uneven spot in her makeup in the rear view mirror._

_Myrtle rolled her eyes and sunk a bit deeper into the seat. 'Don't shame the family is like the founding principle of this stupid, sexist household,' she mused to herself. _

_They came up to the large white house on the right—an extravagant and glorious place with three stories and four massive white pillars out front. It screamed high class and Myrtle felt her stomach grow sour. It was exactly the kind of place that radiated decadence and expensive taste, nothing humble about it, and under normal circumstances she didn't pay it much attention. Perhaps it was the gardener in the front yard that caused her to truly look at how disillusioning it all was. No one should live in a house so large when there were people starving in Vietnam. Some people had nothing, but Myrtle was repulsed to have it all._

_"Ugh, who's car is __**that**__?! It's ghastly…"_

_A Volkswagen beetle was parked up ahead, by no means in terrible condition, but it did look low-class and out of place in front of the mansion. Myrtle was instantly curious, not because the car was out of place, but because it was the most fascinating and garish shade of orange. A smile threatened the corners of her lips, simply because it had caused her mother ire. She never tired of spiting that woman._

_They rolled up into the driveway where Myrtle was the first to step out with her bag. Her mother hurried inside as if she might be spotted in the yard by the neighbors and be forced to acknowledge the presence of the orange car, but Myrtle watched from the drive as three people got out and approached her specifically._

_"Myrtle Snow?" _

_"Yes?" she asked, slightly aloof as always._

_"Be a dear and show us in. We've got something to discuss with you and your mother."_

_Her brow furrowed. "Is this about Georgine Marshall because if it is, you can speak with my father when he gets home in two hours." Defense came naturally to her. It was in her blood._

_"Yes, I suppose it is, just a little, but more importantly, it's about you. We'd like to offer you a place alongside your sister witches at a prestigious boarding school in New Orleans."_

_Myrtle hesitated. "Come in but be quick about it so the neighbors don't see or my mother will have a fit."_

_She led them inside and flopped her schoolbag down beside the grand staircase. "Mother, there are people here to see us."_

_"Company at this hour?!" Her voice was shrill as if the house hadn't been cleaned. It was a joke, such an utter joke. The wood floors were spotless enough to eat off of and even the rugs could've been picnicked on. Her mother came rushing out from the kitchen as if she were afraid of being caught and singled out as a terrible hostess._

_"Settle down mother, you're embarrassing," Myrtle muttered._

_"Don't mumble, dear, it's low class." Finally the woman looked her guests over—three women who looked middle class at best and one of whom was so plump it seemed indulgent and disgusting, but Myrtle found them fascinating. "We weren't expecting company."_

_"It is of no consequence to us, Mrs. Snow, this will only take a few moments of your time."_

_"Myrtle, dear, why don't you show them into the sitting room while I fetch us all some lemonade."_

_Myrtle did this wordlessly as she'd done many times and allowed the three women to sit on the sofa while she saved the chair for her mother and herself._

_"So. Who are you people?"_

_"We're the Witches Council dear. I'm Amelia Trimble," the oldest of the three women introduced herself first and then gestured to her left, "this is Cassandra Whitby," and then to her right, "and Franny Kent."_

_"We've come to collect you," Ms. Whitby said with a pleasant, southern accent._

_"Here we are," Myrtle's mother arrived with the lemonade and placed the tray down on the coffee table. "Now, who do we have the pleasure of meeting today?"_

_Myrtle explained and then fell quiet for a moment. "What I don't understand is what you meant outside. You're not here about Georgine Marshall, but you're here to take me away…"_

_"Don't put it like that, dear. We're not kidnapping you, the choice is entirely yours," Ms. Kent insisted._

_"But where will you take me?"_

_"Miss Robichaux's Academy." Ms. Whitby spoke again with that enchanting voice of hers. "It's a boarding school for exceptionally gifted young ladies such as yourself."_

_"What do you mean by—" Myrtle couldn't even finish her sentence._

_"An academy? Well she absolutely must go. Myrtle, think of the prestige…"_

_Myrtle rolled her eyes and her head dropped into her hands. "What kind of academy is it? Not that I'm not flattered by the opportunity," she tried to be polite and straightened in her chair. "But what sets it apart from everywhere else?" she asked._

_"Well, it's a school for girls with gifts like yours. Take for instance Georgine Marshall's hair…"_

_"That was an… You can't prove anything," Myrtle felt her temper rising. The principal had her locker searched for a lighter and found nothing he could incriminate her with. _

_"The particulars of how don't concern us, Myrtle. You have a gift. A very exceptional and unusual one. The teachers at Miss Robichaux's Academy could teach you how to use that gift, should you wish."_

_Myrtle watched them suspiciously for a moment. "Are you insane? You think I actually…"_

_"No, dear. We know you did. No one in this room is upset with you." _

_Myrtle chewed on her lip anxiously. "Are you saying I'm…I'm not…"_

_"You're a witch, dear. A member of a coven, and an important one too."_

_"A witch?!" Her mother looked incredulous. "How am I supposed to explain __**that **__to our friends!"_

_"Ugh, mother. You cannot be serious."_

_"No one needs to know a thing, Mrs. Snow. All you tell them is that your daughter has gone to a prestigious boarding school in New Orleans. I'm sure that will suffice to answer their questions."_

_"No one said I'm going anywhere!" Myrtle responded loudly to being talked over. She stood up, afraid of what all this meant. "I don't want to be some Samantha Stephens, how am I supposed to explain such a thing to my future husband—"_

_"That's not what you want though, is it dear?" Ms. Trimble looked at her with kind eyes as if she were peering into her soul. "You want to be in charge of your own life, don't you? Always have. You've never agreed with this lifestyle and you don't think it will agree with you either."_

_"Myrtle, what is she talking about?"_

_Myrtle sat, staring at the woman, unsure of how she knew but suddenly feeling calmer just to have some truth out in the open. "I…I…"_

_"You can be anyone you want to. The door is wide open for you to come and join us. Learn how to control your ability. After that…the choice is yours."_

_"I don't understand!" her mother was shrieking as if she was at gunpoint._

_"Sold."_

_Myrtle Snow simply smiled._


	5. Fiona Goode: 1

_The house was quiet and still until she stumbled in. Her hair was a mess, one of her heels had broken three blocks back, and her dress was rumpled. There was a run in her pantyhose, red lipstick smudged on her lips, but she chucked her purse aside on the chaise and drunkenly reached to turn on the lamp. Instead it hit the floor and shattered._

_"Well, shit…" She sighed and pushed the debris carefully aside with her foot. _

_She wandered into her bedroom and turned on a lamp beside the bed with a little more care, struggled to unzip herself and nearly fell over in the process. Lazily, Fiona flopped backward onto the bed as if it'd help her get her bearings just to sit for a minute._

_"Mommy?" _

_"Jesus Christ, Delia, you scared the shit out of me. Why aren't you sleeping?" She looked at the shy, fair haired little pixy standing in the doorway. She never asked for a baby, never wanted one and still didn't, but here they were six years later and Fiona decided she couldn't part with her. For a short time, she believed in herself. She was going to be a good mother even if it killed her…_

_But it was nights like this, when she had to be the responsible one, that she wanted nothing to do with the little devil that crawled out of her womb._

_"I was, but I had a bad dream and you broke the lamp, Mommy," her eyes were wide and bright as if it were a sin to destroy the lamp._

_"I'll get it in the morning. Go on back to bed."_

_"Can I sleep with you?" Delia asked, playing with the hem of her night gown._

_"You have your own bed, don't you?"_

_"Yes…but there's a monster under there. Please mommy?"_

_"Oh Christ, fine. Get in." She wasn't in the mood to argue. The scrawny little child scrambled up onto the bed and under the covers while Fiona turned the lamp off and shirked her pantyhose, crawling under the blankets in her slip._

_Somewhere in the dark a few hours later, Fiona woke, unable to sleep for some unbeknownst reason. That little heathen of a child was curled up right next to her, snuggled close. It was then that Fiona love her most. Quiet and sleeping, like the dead._

_Being so close she could feel that spark of energy coming off of Delia like the start of a flame. Delia would take her place one day as Supreme unless…_

_It was in these quiet moments that she thought about smothering her own daughter. Snuffing her out. She didn't have the guts to do it when she was awake, but she slept soundly now, so peaceful and comfortable, her sweet baby breath blowing on Fiona's side. She didn't deserve a child like Cordelia. Sweet and terribly obedient. Innocent and pure, and gifted already, but she couldn't think of such things. It robbed her of some youth to bring Delia into this godforsaken world._

_And now here they were. Holed up in apartments and posh looking houses. She had everything she wanted and then some, but this little nip of a girl was not part of the plan. _

_This was a constant war, a fight between the right thing and the wrong thing, putting this girl out of her misery or…_

_No. She could hand her over to someone else. Maybe not today or tomorrow or even a year from now, but she could be free again. All she had to do was drag Cordelia down to New Orleans. Down to Robichaux's. Just leave her on the doorstep with a suitcase and a note and nothing else. She could do that. She was the supreme after all. _

_Yes. She would do that as soon as Cordelia came of age. And it was a thought that comforted her as she drifted back to sleep._


	6. Charles Montgomery: 1

_She wore feathers in her hair. No matter how many times he breathed the ether in, no matter how many times she shrieked at him and barked an order or called him stupid, he would slink to the basement, breathe the addictive aroma in, and think of Nora twelve years earlier. Young, fair-skinned with feathers in her hair and beads decorating the collar of dress in an ornate pattern. She wore bright, unusual colors and that's why she stood out to him._

_The sight of her in that bright shade of teal had never left him for a moment. It always lingered somewhere in the back of his mind, she waited there like a ghost. Eighteen and pretty with the feathers in her hair. Unchaperoned, vulnerable, with just a touch of come hither in her eyes._

_She was still radiant as she'd always been, but that look of mystery and temptation was gone from her eyes and replaced with loathing. _

_He could remember the day too that she told him Thaddeus would be born and he delighted at the prospect of being a father—of having a child, any child at all call him father. The day Thaddeus was born was the happiest day of his life and he couldn't imagine a time when he'd ever been happier, except maybe the day he married Nora._

_But here they were now and Thaddeus was gone and Nora wouldn't look at him, scathing glances or otherwise. They were paupers. He'd been such a fool, such a __**failure**__. He'd given her the world, certainly, but now they were going to lose it all. He had to do something. Anything. Once in a while he could hear her crying upstairs, wailing like a ghost sometimes as she wandered the rooms in the house. Like she was searching for him and didn't know where he'd gone or what to do with herself when she couldn't find him. _

_He was going to make it right._

_He didn't tell her he kept the chest with the jars. The funeral had been arranged, but they buried an empty box._

_He took another deep breath, welcoming the hazy high of the vapors, clumsily threaded a needle and set to work._

_He would win her back, the beautiful girl with eyes like sapphires and feathers in her hair._


	7. Eugene Spalding: 1

_The summer sun was hot and doing no particular kind of justice for the plants or the grass in the yard. It made his job that much more difficult. _

_He knew he should be grateful for the job as the Academy's gardener (one his father had secured for him), and he knew he'd take his father's place someday, but it was hard to be thankful in this sweltering heat…_

_He did love it though, tending to the flowers, grooming the lawn and trimming the hedges. It was a job he took seriously. It wasn't always easy to make the old house as beautiful on the outside as it was on the inside, and he often went through great pains to ensure that it was, but it was a labor of love._

_Eugene stopped and leaned the mower against the iron fence, wiping his brow with the hem of his white shirt when he heard the front door open. He turned to look and saw her as she skipped down each step, glancing behind her with a rueful smile on her face. Marlyse Vanderbilt. She was neither an exceedingly beautiful girl, nor a homely looking one either; a splash of freckles like constellations, deep brown eyes, and dark hair. She wore glasses too, which she pushed up on her nose as she approached._

_He guessed the parts of her that made her remarkable were the parts of her kind and generous personality that shone through her like fireflies in a jar. Her smile was always friendly, her voice always soft. So when she did come to greet him, he couldn't help but stare for a moment and wonder with vague curiosity what she was up to._

_"Hi," she rocked on her heels a little. "It's real hot out, isn't it?"_

_He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped himself short. He pursed his lips together and nodded, lowering his eyes to the grass._

_"I thought you might like some lemonade, so I brought you a glass." She offered it to him, the chilly drink had caused the glass to sweat in the heat. "The yard looks beautiful," she continued, appraising his work. "I love what you did with the flowers in the flower beds. Daffodils are my favorite."_

_"I thought they'd make it look bright and inviting," he had to calm himself from allowing his chest to swell. "Yellow, you know…so…"_

_"Friendly," she finished. "They look especially beautiful with the tulips."_

_"Thank you," he could feel his ears turning red._

_They stood in awkward silence for a moment before she handed him the glass. "I'll be out to give you a refill in an hour. Okay?"_

_"Sure, sure." He watched her for a moment before an idea struck him. "Marlyse! Wait."_

_She turned, the dark curls of her hair swimming around her shoulders. She almost looked like Judy Garland standing there. "Yes?"_

_"Would…would you like to go to a movie with me on Friday?"_

_Her smile bloomed like the brightest white rose he'd ever seen. "I'd love to," she nodded. Marlyse trotted up each stair and back to the house where it seemed her friends must've been waiting for her return because they broke out into fits of laughter. "I can't believe you just did that!" one shrieked, but no matter how incredulous, Eugene Spalding could not stop smiling._

_Who would've guessed that he of all people—he, whom his classmates called Lurch because he was tall and skinny and knobby looking and usually bad with words—was going on a date. With Marlyse Vanderbilt, no less._

_"Madame isn't paying you to be a layabout in the yard, son," his father's cold words came from above. It spurred him from his reverie as he took up the mower and finished the rest or the lawn in record time._


	8. Misty Day: 1

_Eyes shut tight. Hands clamped over her ears. _

_Not here. Not here. No no no…_

_His angry voice was only a faint echo. Had she tuned him out? She hesitantly opened one eye first, then the other, staring into her lap. _

_The sun. The sun! Her heart beat a little faster. She was warm, weightless. The light was blinding and beautiful and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to it. She squinted and began to make out the clearing._

_She stood, light as air, and listened to the birds singing in the trees. A butterfly fluttered close and she touched its wings dusted with yellow pollen and it left a trace on her fingertips before flying away again._

_Everything was alive. Everything was in bloom. It smelled sweet and earthy and warm, and she wanted to touch all of it. _

_She'd spent an eternity, it seemed, in purgatory. Alone. Reviving dead things. Never appreciated for her talent. They called her a freak. She burned. _

_Miss Cordelia never thought those things. She saw all of Misty's potential, encouraged her to try harder, to believe in herself, and for one final moment, she did. 'Thank you, thank you, thank you,' she thought._

_All the bitter years had ended in a blaze of glory, thanks to that one woman. She'd found her tribe—a two-woman tribe. And for a little while, just a little while, she'd been very happy. _

_It was enough. _

_Bees hummed in the trees, hummingbirds danced in the flowers. A fawn emerged from the trees, nibbled some grass, looked up and met her eyes._

_'It's all for you,' the whole place sang—a song just for her._

_Nothing had ever been sweeter._


	9. Nora Montgomery: 1

_Little vices. Everyone had them and they weren't always pretty. 'You of all people know that, Nora,' she thought with a careless huff. The pills slipped down easily. She changed into her evening gown before setting down to the parlor for their evening tea. Or at least that was what it was supposed to be, but frankly neither of them had the stomach for pleasantries at this hour and it seemed like a wiser idea to start drinking._

_He didn't protest then and he wasn't protesting now._

_After supper, she'd rocked Thaddeus a little before he became squirmy and cried. Such a noisy little thing! Ugh. She could still hear him carrying on faintly upstairs. It set her teeth on edge, but not for much longer. A little brandy and everything would be right as rain, she assured herself._

_Charles was sitting in his favorite chair smoking his pipe when she entered. His eyes were glittering with a twilight haze of the ether cast over them. She was irritated by it, not because he insisted on being too out of his own mind for decent conversation (although that thought did briefly cross her mind), but because it was so easy for him to casually slip in and out of reality as he pleased. One of them had to have their head on straight at a time like this, when their finances were crumbling._

_How stupid she'd been. How miserably foolish and what an utter dolt! His visions had seemed so revolutionary and attainable once, but they had lost their luster, much like her youth, and she was now trapped in the middle of utterly wretched scandal. She couldn't even attend parties anymore without the judgmental glances of their friends who knew their estate was crumbling._

_It was an open secret, and just the sort she most loathed. _

_Worse still, she had no way of knowing how it had gotten out in the first place but gossip enraged her. To think she should be fodder for anyone to speak out of turn about!_

_She pulled the glass stopper from the brandy and set out a glass for herself and one for Charles. "We're going to have to do __**something**__, Charles."_

_"Mmm?" he looked to her only half aware. She set her glass back down at the bar and added another shot of brandy to her glass before passing his. She'd have liked five more. It would have made his slurred delirium at least a little more bearable. _

_She stood beside the fireplace. As a girl she dreamed of being the woman behind the man, lauded for her cleverness and shrewdness. And now what was she? A card table laughing-stock! She drank half of her brandy, feeling suddenly warm and heavy like a pair of hands rubbing her bare shoulders._

_He used to trace lines on her back as though he were giving her wings…_

_The phone rang._

_She abandoned her glass on the mantle and went to it. "Whoever this is, it's much too late to be calling at this hour."_

_"An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth."_

_"Who is this?" she recoiled, disgusted. "I don't know who you think you are, but…"_

_The line went dead. Repulsed she stood for a moment thinking surely she had dreamed it up. What an odd thing to say. An eye for an eye… "Charles. I've just had the most peculiar conversation." A tooth for a…_

_The receiver fell from her hand, a sudden, cold realization seizing her. Call it cleverness or maternal intuition, but she ascended the stairs with such hurry. The nursery door was slightly ajar, not at all unusual, but at the same time it didn't feel right at all. "Charles…" she called, feeling an unreal tingle stretch across her scalp. _

_Her heart echoed so loudly in her own head. 'He must be there. Surely he must…' She peered over the edge of the crib, reaching for the blanket as if the baby could have possibly flattened himself beneath it._

_The chilly night gust blew in from the window. And then she realized it was open. The window was open. _

_"Charles!"_

_Thaddeus was gone._


	10. Thaddeus Montgomery: 1

_Mother and her bell. _

_As a young child, he grew to resent that sound, but the nostalgia of it now felt somehow sentimental._

_"Father won't join us for dinner?" he asked, somehow hoping to see the man who had inspired his want to become a doctor on his first evening home._

_"No, no. He's very busy at the hospital. They're naming a surgical wing after him, you know. It's under construction."_

_Thaddeus nodded with a casual smile as Daphne emerged with a roasted duck and steamed green beans. The rolls were still hot and fresh from the oven. All his favorites. "Daphne, you shouldn't have!" he remarked with a charming smile, admiring the spread._

_"What are you on about now, dear?" Nora asked, helping herself to the wine._

_"She's made all of my favorites." He beamed at Daphne who stood at the door to the kitchen._

_"I didn't know duck was your favorite," Nora looked up, her expression halfway between perturbed and aloof, and perhaps just a little offended that someone could know her precious son better than she did._

_Thaddeus looked across the table at his younger sister. Annabelle was almost the spitting image of their mother with their father's eyes. She smiled at him as she spooned a helping of steamed red potatoes onto her plate. "Do tell us about Harvard, Thaddeus."_

_"Annabelle," her mother cut in curtly. "I don't think it's appropriate to discuss university business. Besides which, this is your brother's holiday. I'm sure it's the last thing he'd like to talk about, isn't it Thaddeus?"_

_He looked to his mother and then to Annabelle. "It'd bore you anyway, Annie," he tried to console her fifteen year old curiosities, although he knew it wouldn't. It was a shared secret between them that Annabelle liked science just as much—if not more—than he did. She would never get over the disappointment of not going to Harvard when she reached his age. _

_As children their father was indulgent, conducting "experiments" with them in the parlor, reading to them from macabre science fiction novels. Annabelle had never grown out of it. But Thaddeus had the chance to be a doctor and he was going to take it. _

_"I'm very proud of you anyway," Annabelle remarked glancing up at him._

_"And so am I," Nora reached across the table and squeezed his hand. "Taking after your father. You're going to be a wonderful doctor, Thaddeus."_

_"Have you thought of which field you'll continue on in?"_

_"Annabelle, really. Is this any kind of dinner conversation to entertain?"_

_"It's alright, mother. It's just us, and I don't mind," Thaddeus offered a reassuring smile and rubbed the back of his mother's hand with his thumb. "And I think I'd like to study pediatric medicine, but I'm not set on that just yet. There are so many fields to study, you know," he helped himself to the slice of duck on his plate._

_"Working with children, Thaddeus. How admirable." Nora remarked but she didn't seem entirely enthused._

_Thaddeus sighed, wishing his father could have joined them for dinner after all._


	11. Lana Winters: 2

_"Bloodyface IV! The Son…of Bloodyface."_

_"Oh, turn that damn thing off," she snapped._

_"C'mon Auntie Lana, you gotta be a little curious about who's going to play you in that one. It's not the same young woman who played you the first time around," Julia poured the tea, having heeded her aunt's warning and brought her a cup._

_"You didn't know him. Not like I did. They glorify his name like he's some kind of hero." Her words were venomous and Julia knew better than to argue. "Didn't your father ever tell you anything about him?"_

_"'Course not," Thomas countered, coming to sit beside his sister. "He didn't need to, really. I mean I've read your book now—" he watched her face turn vaguely sour at the mention of it. "The rest is a google search away."_

_After a long spell of quiet between them, Lana spoke again. "You shouldn't have read it."_

_"Evil exists in the world," Julia shrugged. "That's the nature of things. I just hope we've succeeded in putting more good out into it."_

_"Of course you have," Lana countered with a soft smile reserved only for Thomas and Julia. She didn't have to be callous around them. "Your mothers and father would be proud of you." She watched Thomas for a moment before he caught her staring and then looked into her tea cup again, tracing the rim of it with her thumb. She had never forgotten Grace's face, for as much as Thomas looked like Kit, Lana could see so many parts of her there too._

_She forced a smile in Julia's direction. "How are Paul and the kids?"_

_"Doing well," Julia beamed. "Alma is cutting teeth and Paul taught Jude how to ride his bike without training wheels last weekend." _

_This had become a habit of theirs. Monthly visits and that sort of thing. Often these things stayed between the three of them, but once in a while the kids and spouses would come along. It made the void of emptiness seem a little less lonely. Lana, withered, elderly and single, had been left what seemed like ages ago. _

_She had night terrors after killing Johnny in their own apartment. She wanted to move, to get as far away from the east coast as possible, but her partner wouldn't uproot her whole life like that. So for a few years, Lana ran as far away from it all as she could get. But those years had not been kind by a long shot. She came back home to the East Coast six months earlier and it had stayed that way since. It was alright now. Or as alright as it could be._

_"So you said you wanted to talk to us," Thomas interjected eventually. "What about?"_

_She felt nervous in ways she hadn't in years. Not the good kind. Not like book signings or reporting for a network. This was the nervousness that was hard to swallow. Like when he told her she was the one to tell his story. The kind of nervousness that made her palms sweaty._

_"I uh…" she needed scotch for this, but there was no way the kids would've allowed it. "I'm afraid I have some bad news," her throat ran dry. For a woman who made the essence of truth her business, for a woman who's whole life revolved around opening eyes and delivering hard-hitting stories, this one was turning to ash in her mouth. "I won't sugar coat this for either of you, you're old enough to hear it, and I don't want any questions—I won't answer them." She paused, gripping the sofa cushions. "I'm dying."_

_She looked at both of them to gauge their reactions, which seemed to be suspended in equal disbelief. "That's the truth. I can't make it any plainer." There was a difference in the two of them plain as day and Lana could easily spot it. Thomas looked at the floor, his brow knitted in understanding and loathing for unfairness, Julia, by contrast looked at her much more scientifically as if every issue were fixable. And it was she who spoke first._

_"What has your doctor said about prognosis? Treatment? Never mind, that last one isn't important. I'll have my team look into it," Julia was pouring each of them another cup of tea. Lana had never met Alma, but she guessed this part of Julia was part of her mother too. The no-nonsense part._

_"Julia," Thomas sighed, rubbing his face. He hesitated before speaking again. "What have you settled on?" Unlike his sister, he was not the type to merely gloss over the truth by looking for the loophole. True, in law there was almost always a loophole. Although medicine was his sister's specialty, he doubted the same rule would apply. Lana had always been another parent to them. He didn't want to lose her either, but they would eventually whether they liked the idea or not._

_"I'm forgoing treatment," Lana slid the flask from under the sofa cushion and poured a little of it into her teacup, mixing its contents and returning the flask beneath it. "I've suffered through enough for three lifetimes, God knows I don't need any more of it now."_

_"You haven't even considered that it could add years onto your—"_

_"I've considered it. As I've said, the floor is not open for discussion. I asked you here today because I wanted to know if there was anything in particular we hadn't already discussed about adding to the will." Thomas was her executor and lawyer. He knew that will better than any other document he'd probably ever seen in his entire life. "You know you'll both receive half of my estate to do with what you will."_

_Julia's face seemed sour with grief at Lana's resistance. "Why? I don't understand __**why**__?" _

_Lana hadn't seen her so sentimental about anything in ages. "I can't make you understand. You can't know what my life has been…"_

_"Then help us to!" Thomas stood, angry now. He looked like Kit most when something upset him._

_Lana stood too, approaching the window and staring out. "I'm not going to argue about this with you." Her tone was firm._

_They left shortly after and Lana was once again alone. She scanned the penthouse, so spacious and ridiculously large for one woman. A cold draft seemed to blow through it, making her shudder. She was a self-made woman and she was proud of that, but she was not proud of the route that brought her there. These days memories of Briarcliff came stronger than ever before. With shaking hands, she poured herself a drink and sat in the dark. When had night fallen? _

_{The rest is under the cut for trigger warnings, proceed with caution}_

_"I'm dragging you to hell with me," he said from the corner, his voice making her cringe._

_Her hands trembled like leaves in the breeze. She took a drink and poured herself another hoping it might drown the vision of him out._

_"Oh come on, Lana, not even a hello?"_

_If she didn't acknowledge him, didn't let him in, he couldn't hurt her, could he?_

_"You know, I had such hopes for you when I met you. So talented and bright. Unlike everyone else in that godforsaken asylum, Lana, you had potential."_

_She felt nauseated. Shuffling toward the bathroom he seemed to follow because he was waiting for her there._

_'You make furniture.'_

_'Lamps, mostly.'_

_'What materials do you use?'_

_'Skin.'_

_She removed the asprin from the medicine cabinet and took two. _

_"You sold out, Lana. You cheapened yourself. Look at you now. The infamous Lana Winters. Nothing more than a gossip monger."_

_"ENOUGH!" She turned to look him in the eye, but he'd already faded from sight. _

_Going to the bedroom, she undressed and started into the walk-in closet. The light came on with a sudden burst when she flipped the switch._

_"No one is going to know the truth about us, Lana," Wendy murmured. "Didn't I matter to you?" _

_She was going to vomit. _

_Lana slipped into a silk robe and sat on the edge of the bed. "Didn't I matter to you?" Wendy repeated. "You always wanted to tell the truth, Lana. Tell me the truth!"_

_She groped the bedside table for the sleeping pills. Pressing her eyes shut, all she could see was Wendy's frozen body. Her chest tightened and her eyes watered. One, two, three, four, five…_

_"You're joking." Oliver stood in the doorway again. "Suicide? My god, Lana, what a miserable cliche…"_

_Six, seven, eight, nine, ten…_

_"Following in Father Timothy's footsteps then," he rolled her eyes. "How unoriginal of you."_

_She curled up in bed, covering her ears. "Go away!"_

_"You gave me away. I never mattered to you either," Johnny stood at the foot of her bed. "That's your problem. You think people are expendable. You've always thought of them as collateral damage. Like you could just throw them out when you didn't want to deal with them."_

_"GO AWAY!"_

_How long did she lay there whispering to herself before the Angel came. _

_"Are you ready for me now?" the Angel asked, stroking her hair and tucking it behind her ear._

_"Take me. Take me away, please."_

_It ended in peaceful darkness._

_—-_

_Julia Walker scanned the autopsy report. An overdose. Judging by the x-rays illuminated, she would not have had much time left even if she hadn't. Malignant tumors had taken over her brain._

_"She would have suffered terrible hallucinations," she whispered to herself. She looked to the body on the coroner's table and approached it._

_"I'm so sorry, Lana. For everything."_

_But apologies, no matter how meaningful, no longer served any purpose at all._


	12. Nora Montgomery: 2

_A scratched record that skipped on the gramophone. That was what it felt like. One minute she felt like she was stuck in a dreamless sleep, and the next she was cognizant and wandering, with an anxious feeling grabbing at her heart._

_"Where is my baby?"_

_Her fingers were cold and no matter how near she stood to the fireplace or the stove, they would. Not. Warm. And for some indeterminate reason, she felt…strangely drawn to the basement. Always looking for Charles. Always grasping for a sense of familiarity that never came and left her hollow and despairing._

_She'd been watching with an unhappy scowl as he crouched in the corner eating rats with those horrendous teeth. He seemed to gain a sickening sense of satisfaction snapping their necks and eating the life from their tiny bodies. Nora gave an involuntary shudder of disgust and felt the thick fog of a faulty memory wrap itself around her like a heavy blanket. _

_Thwack, thunk, thrack!_

_A child's toy came bounding down the steps, one stair at a time. She hid herself in the shadows, hearing the footsteps of the retriever who came to collect it._

_A boy. A darling, sandy haired boy. _

_She could see it before it happened. Thaddeus skittering out from the corner like a hound poised to attack. She grabbed the child protectively and hugged him to her chest. "No, Thaddeus! No."_

_He slunk back into darkness, leaving Nora to inspect the intruder. "You're not hurt, are you?" she asked, looking him over. Innocently, the boy shook his head. "Don't be afraid. If Thaddeus ever bothers you again, all you have to do is shut your eyes and say 'Go away!'" She hugged him tightly for a moment to comfort him, the poor thing clearly shaken. _

_The pull was back, heavy in her heart and unnamable._

_Such a lovely, golden-haired boy. Like an angel. She caressed his cheek and hugged him close again. "Life is too short for so much sorrow."_

_She felt the weight of eternal damnation, heavy on nonexistent bones._


	13. Grace Bertrand: 1

_She spoke softly to them in French, kissing their hurts and hushing them with delicate lullabyes. Maybe she did it sometimes knowing Alma would hate it, but her conscience got the better of her and she knew she shouldn't. It was so strange to be the other woman and sometimes it burned her inside. Could he ever love her as he loved Alma? Alma who was there first, Alma who claimed to know him best. But she hadn't been there in his darkest hours at Briarcliff, had she?_

_That, she took a small measure of pride in, however sadistic it might be._

_She sat under the willow tree in the back with Julia and Thomas, eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and grapes, kissing the strawberry jam off their fingers and playing tickle monster until they were delirious with laughter and begged her to stop._

_It seemed that was where Alma differed from her too. She loved their children indiscriminately. _

_"Tell us about the aliens, Mommy!" Thomas begged, climbing into her lap as she leaned against the tree and Julia joined them on her other knee. _

_"But I already told you everything," Grace protested, although she was happy to tell them again. She liked that they shared her fascination with the creatures that had brought them into being._

_"Tell it again," Julia insisted, tracing the embroidery on Grace's shirt._

_She kissed them both and gave them a squeeze. "Alright, I'll tell it again." She left out Briarcliff and glossed over the part where she and Kit had met, glad that they were still too young to question it. She told them that although the aliens had frightened her at first, they proved to be kind. "It's alright to be afraid," she reminded them, resting her head on Thomas'. "But sometimes the things we are afraid of are only things we don't understand. It's why we should question everything. Knowledge is power, mon trésors." She then explained the blinding white light that brought her back and that when she woke, she saw that they had given to their family a special miracle. _

_"Us!" Julia chirped with satisfaction._

_"Right. Both of you." Grace stared into the sky as the clouds rolled over and smiled, a silent thank you for all they'd been blessed with._

_"Bring them in, Grace, it's going to rain!" Alma called from the kitchen window. As if by divine intervention, it struck up then._

_The children laughed and ran circles in it, Thomas slipped in the mud with a gasp that looked like it might turn to tears, but instead he laughed harder, dragging Julia down with him._

_"They're making a mess, bring them inside, Grace!" Alma insisted again._

_"They're children, Alma! Let them live and be messy," Grace picked herself up and grabbed their hands, the three of them making a circle and dancing in the mud and the rain without a care in the world._


	14. Ethel Darling: 1

_"Mommy look what I drew!"_

_She stirred and rolled over to look. He was still holding the crayons proudly in his fused fingers, beaming. She smiled a little, but grimmaced as she sat up, the throbbing headache blacking the world out for a second. She could feel him crawl up into the bed and into her lap, his picture slowly coming back into view. "I made it for you." He looked up to gauge her reaction. Ethel rubbed her eyes and then squinted, reaching for the paper._

_"Well look a' that." She kissed his head, recalling how she thought he'd never learn to do such a thing. It wasn't too bad off either. A picture of the two of them and a big top in the background. "You're a regular artist, Jimmy. What else ya got?"_

_"Miss Elsa was teachin' me ta juggle, wanna see?" He pushed against her stomach as he bounced out of bed, sending a wave of nausea through her._

_Jimmy scooped three of the balls off the counter in their caravan, putting them on the floor at his feet before he cleared his throat. "My name is Jimmy Darling, but most people call me Lobster Boy," he held up his hands proudly and puffed his chest out a little like a tiny Superman. "You may think life would be pretty hard with hands like mine, but I get by. Don't believe me? Watch me juggle!" He hurried to scoop up all three balls and kept them going for two rounds before two of them fell. _

_Ethel clapped. "Good show, son."_

_Jimmy kicked one ball to the side. "No it wasn't I dropped 'em all." He kicked the cupboard door and scowled. "I'll never be good at nothin' 'cause of my hands. 'S not fair!"_

_Her head pounded and her stomach was lurching but she took a few deep breaths and pushed her feet over the edge of the bed, patting the side for him to come and sit. He marched over, stomping the whole way before joining her, still scowling. "Nobody was ever good at nothin' on the first try. That's why you practice."_

_"I don't wanna practice. I'm never gonna be good at nothin'."_

_"Now you listen here, Jimmy. You're no quitter. No you're not. Look at me."_

_He looked up at her, his brown eyes big and watering. "You can do anythin' you put yer mind you, y' hear? Yer special, Jimmy. And I'll let you in on a secret all the best people are."_

_"Are you special too?" he sniffled._

_"You make me special."_

_"How?"_

_"'Cause I'm yer mom."_

_He cuddled into her side. "Is everybody else here special too? Like us?"_

_"In their own little way, just like you an' me." Ethel's stomach hitched. "Why don't you go outside an' practice now, okay? Momma's head hurts."_

_Jimmy slipped out of bed and grabbed the balls off the floor, heading outside to play under Elsa's arm._

_"Reeks in here," Elsa pointed out. "Ethel, have you been drinking again? We agreed no more."_

_"It was just…"_

_"I give you a roof over your head. Take your son under my wing. This is how you repay me?" Elsa folded her arms. "Or shall we leave you at the next watering hole and I can let Pepper and Salty raise your Jimmy?"_

_Ethel's stomach dropped. "No. No I'm off the stuff. For good."_

_"Good. Good. It would be a shame to lose you, Ethel. Now get yourself cleaned up. We have a show to do tonight." Elsa left the caravan in a feathery flourish, leaving Ethel with her thoughts._


	15. Vivien Harmon: 1

_So there he sat, bouncing a ball to something concealed in the shadows. The ball bounced back out and she watched the process again. And again. And again. Such an innocent action, a simple game of catch. Away it went, and back it returned. But some things could roll away and never come back._

_Her lips parted and she drew a breath—an accustomed, but unnecessary habit—and there the moment hung. For thirty, agonizing seconds._

_"Tate."_

_He spun around, jumped to his feet. He stared at her for a second, perhaps surprised to see her and perhaps not. Nothing changed in his face after an initial flicker of surprise._

_"Vivien," he answered softly._

_"Don't be so familiar. What gives you the right?" she asked slowly, her left nostril flared slightly._

_He stuffed his hands into his pocket and took a precautionary step backwards. "Mrs. Harmon. Sorry."_

_"I want you to leave us alone."_

_"I am! You're the one who came looking for me—"_

_She put up her hand and refused to give him a moment of her gaze. "Don't think I don't see you. Watching my daughter. Following my husband, always a few steps behind. You don't hide it very well." She paused and looked at her hands. "It needs to stop, Tate. You need to leave my family alone."_

_His eyes went a little soft, but she didn't pity him for a second. "But I love her. I protect her, I keep her safe," he protested, but she silenced him again._

_"I don't mean to interrupt what I'm sure is a well-rehearsed monologue of your good intentions. But I __**really**__ don't care."_

_"What do you want me to do? It's not like I can go anywhere."_

_"And that's why I think it'd just really be better for everyone if you stayed in the basement."_

_His brow furrowed. "No. No, I'm not gonna do that."_

_She'd come prepared for resistance and almost found herself smiling a little. "You seem convinced of that."_

_"I told her once…if you love someone, you should never hurt them. I'll wait forever if I have to for her. She'll come around someday." He smiled, perhaps a little sure of himself. "When she does, I want her to know I never left."_

_"You're a stalker, Tate." Vivien trained her eyes on him. "I don't know what your fundamental psychological trauma is—I don't care to find out—but you __**will **__leave my family alone." _

_"Why are you doing this to me?"_

_She vanished into thin air, leaving him to squint into the shadows for her._

_"Why did you do it to me, Tate?" Her voice so soft in his ear made him jump._

_"It was…"_

_"A joke to you? A game?"_

_"You don't understand, I was—" He pressed the heels of his hands to his temples._

_"Sick?" She materialized a few feet to his left and laughed. "That's putting it a bit lightly, don't you think?"_

_"You don't understand!" He screamed, furious. _

_"No, __**you **__don't understand." She was an inch from her face, her eyes seemed blackened with anger. "And you never will. You're dead and you're doomed to a lifetime of never understanding. It's __**your fault.**__"_

_"I DIDN'T ASK FOR THIS! I DIDN'T ASK TO BE LIKE THIS."_

_"I DIDN'T ASK FOR YOU TO RAPE ME." Her voice seemed loud enough to shatter the windows, her rage strong enough to make the aged boards on the walls around them rattle and the floors shiver like an earthquake. She was gone from sight again, leaving him alone in a confused panic as the roof shuddered overhead. _

_Somewhere behind him, Beau cowered, howling in fear. When it was clear it wouldn't stop Tate started to panic, an increased sureness in the thought that the roof of the old house would collapse. It was the kind of childish fear neither age nor death could ever shake out of him—this fear that the roof would collapse and there would be nothing he could do to stop it crushing him. He dropped to his knees, pulling his hair. "Stop! Stop I'll do whatever you want—please!"_

_"You're damn right you'll do whatever I want." Vivien's voice whispered in his ear. _

_He barely noticed things had changed around him, but they were in the basement now, Vivien standing near the top of the stairs, glowering at him. "I'll see no more of you around my daughter or my husband or I will make your days in this house the utter __**hell **__I lived in my final hours. Are we clear?"_

_"Y-yes ma'am." He wouldn't look her in the eye. _

_Vivien smiled a little to herself as she climbed the rest of the stairs and let the door fall shut behind her. _

_Moira was scrubbing the hall when she came up._

_"I don't know why you do that, you don't have to."_

_"Something to do, that's all." Moira deposited the brush in the bucket and wiped her hands on her apron, looking up at Vivien. "What you did took courage."_

_Vivien searched the ceiling, trying to find the words to respond. "I wish…I wish it felt better."_

_"I don't understand?"_

_Vivien inhaled deeply, blinking the tears back. "I don't either."_

_"Would some tea help?"_

_Vivien forced herself to smile a little. "It won't change that I'm stuck in this house with him forever." She took another deep breath. "But thank you for trying, Moira. I really do appreciate it." She walked away, careful to avoid the spots Moira had cleaned, wondering if it felt worse or better to have things finally out in the open._


End file.
